Suisai Enogu
by RandomAznNoobieNeenjazoncrack
Summary: 3Shot.Drabble-ish Fluffy AU. BONUS! Dedicated to a friend. RyomaxOC. OC from Ayumi Nazu. She was the paint and he was the water. On the canvas, the mixture of water and paint blending creates a picture of love. But she hesitates... What will happen now?
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't opaque, neither was it bright or vibrant. It was soft, subtle; there was a kind of certain gentleness to it like the way the tips of his fingers would brush faintly across her bare skin so carefully as not to bruise the fair peach. A loving caress so delicate and so surreal, it felt like a warm uplifting dream she was savoring and drunk on.

She was the paint, the array of colors that formed a beautiful picture of her wishes and dreams, the things she locked within her heart. She was the shadows and the light existing together in harmony, illuminating a tale of her life through her eyes.

He was the fluid water, revealing slowly to the world the secret emotions she wanted to express to the world and to herself. Passing through numerous obstacles and blending in with the paint, they meld together, balancing the other.

It was seemingly transparent as you mix what little paint with water to simply touch all the shades of a single color. He was beginning to unfold her hidden layers as she had found something to believe in.

* * *

Suisai Enogu

A Prince of Tennis One-shot Fanfiction

Written by Kiwi of RANNOC

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis (Theme, Canons, and References) is the work and rightfully belongs to Konomi Takeshi. The plot is an idea from the strange mind of Kiwi of RANNOC. Borrowed Original Character belongs to Ayumi Nazu of RANNOC.

AN: At first, I thought the title "Watercolors" would have been very boring for a one-shot so I decided to find the Japanese Romaji for it, which turned out to be "Suisai Enogu". Italics are tiny flashbacks in the character's memory. This fanfiction is dedicated to a friend you know who you are, unless you somehow have amnesia. Well, hope you all enjoy reading this one-shot! Reviews are welcome!

* * *

_Fingers combed through her long hair and his eyes were warm as he gazed down at her face, he'd never shown that kind of expression to anyone but her. It was hers, he was hers. He opened his lips and uttered a soft mutter. _

The brush flowed along with the deft hand movements she was creating, its tips coated with a green as dark as the night sky. She dabbed water that swirled into the paint making a fairly lighter shade into the color of the spiny leaves of a fir tree.

"_Ayumi…"_

"The final score is six games to zero, another amazing feat by…" The television screen was on, blasting a cacophony of pandemonium filled with screaming and cheering of voices young and old. The girl placed the brush on the table top, gazing over at the television screen where the camera had zoomed onto a young man with dark green hair and peculiar hazel irises that might have been mistaken for yellow.

_His lips against hers felt like soft feathers, it felt like a dream. _

Fingers pushed back stray strands of brown from her eyes and the girl sighed, leaning into her seat, her head bent down and a hand was held there on her closed eyes.

_He held her close to his chest; she could feel his breath against her neck where he left light butterfly kisses along her flesh. She could feel so much, his arms around her waist, their heartbeats in tuned with the other, his warmth encircling her, she was drowning in it. She felt so safe and secure. _

She dropped her arm and stared straight up at the ceiling of the art room she was in.

"So this is your fifth straight win in this competition…" Reporters from different television stations and newspapers questioned the man, there were flashes of light as people took pictures of the young man.

She was waiting for him to speak; she was waiting for his voice. She was waiting for him, just like she'd always had. She looked over at the painting in front of her and sat up straighter, reaching a finger to touch the painting. Her finger traced along the person's face, the paint was fresh so she was careful not to smudge anything for fear of destroying her creation.

"_Wow, Nazu-senpai's art is so amazing!!" _

"_I know! She rocks at it!" _

Everything looked the same, but the eyes, his eyes. They were missing something, something important she could tell.

"_Nazu-san, why don't you enter the art competition?"_

"_Yeah, you should, Nazu-senpai!!" _

"_Sensei, you should get Nazu-san to enter!" _

People were making decisions for her just like when she was child, after all this time, she was only growing far more relentless. She hated them, those people; she could just tell by looking at their faces, they scorned her ever since she entered the art school a few years back. Would she ever attain her freedom?

She removed her hand from the painting and stared up at those eyes, studying them closely. She held up the picture, gazing at it intently.

"_So why won't you do it?"_

"_I'm not sure if I should or not." _

"_You have the talent, why are you hesitating?"_

She didn't say anything that time, she knew he was right but she didn't want to say it. The silence was a sufficient enough answer for him.

"_Mada Mada Da Ne, Ayumi." _

She took the picture and left it on its place on the easel, draping a cloth over the top to hide it from the world. She knew that it was an adequate amount of work for one day.


	2. Chapter 2

"_Are you finally going to tell me why?" He looked at her unblinkingly and all she did was avert her eyes, staring at the ground in hesitation._

"_I… I just." _

Patience; he wasn't the type who had that kind of virtue running through his blood; even if he did appear to her with the face of a holy angel.

"_Forget it. Don't bother answering."_

_He spoke softly in a bitter tone she'd known too well, he was tired, he'd had enough. He left her in silence again, his final remark tugging at her heart strings. It hurt, it hurt so badly. _

Water over paint does make the most beautiful of things in the world of art. Too much of one thing can be a bad thing. Too much water on the painting can easily destroy the simple beauty, creating mortal wounds so deep that it scars.

* * *

Suisai Enogu

A Prince of Tennis Fanfiction

Written by Kiwi of RANNOC

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is the work of Konomi Takeshi.

The plot is the work of the deviously strange mind of RANNOC's Kiwi.

OC belongs to RANNOC's Ayumi Nazu.

AN: It's the continuation of the one-shot and I want to give thanks to **SmartOotori** for adding this short story to their favorites list. Hope you enjoy the read, reviews are welcome! Italics are tiny flashbacks from the Original Character's memory.

* * *

With the stroke of a brush, paint is laid on the paper. As the paint connects with water, it runs.

In her life, it was either that people around her, forced her to run or she'd cowardly run away from the problems that had arisen herself.

She didn't have that much confidence, but she wasn't afraid of that fact. She always had him beside her as her strength, as her support. He never told her that she was running away, she never admitted to herself that she was running away. It was all too troublesome and the both of them knew it from the start anyway.

What was the reason for it? Why was she running? What was she running from this time around? The answer would find her later; she just had too many things to think about.

Ayumi found herself gazing out at the sky at the bus stop on the way home; it was getting colder since the season was passing into middle fall to the beginning of winter already. She got onto the bus when it had finally arrived, the rush of warmth connecting with her skin burned, awakening an old memory of the last frost.

_They walked together in the snow; the feeling of their hands linked together, although none of them weren't even wearing gloves, it was a happy one. _

"…_I still think you were a bit too hard on your opponent." _

"_It wasn't my fault that he had a lot to work on. He was a poorly skilled player to begin with." _

"_But still, you could have gone easier on him."_

"_Che." He turned away as she giggled. They continued on and stopped at the bench outside the outer ring of the park. Ayumi sat down, breathing hot air into the palms of her hand. Ryoma headed for the vending machine, slipping in the coins and hearing the tinkling clink as they fell. _

"_Here," He said, handing her a can of hot coffee. _

"_Thanks." She smiled and only held the drink in her hands to keep them warm. _

_Ryoma opened the can of Ponta in his hand and drunk a few long sips. Ayumi stared down at her can of coffee._

"_Hey Ryoma-kun," Ryoma glanced over at the girl beside him. Her dark brown hair was longer than it used to be, it was one of the factors that made it harder to play tennis. He didn't have to talk about his ultimate passion to her like he'd always done, she already understood. Tennis was the one thing he was great at, the one thing he loved the most. _

_Ayumi leaned her head onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. _

"_Do you think I should go into an art school?" _

She closed the door behind her, letting the coat she was wearing slip off her shoulders and carelessly dropped it into a chair in her living room area of her apartment. She slipped on a pair of slippers and walked through the rooms of her house.

Ayumi stopped in front of a closed door beside her bedroom; she opened the door and flicked on the light in the room.

"_Isn't this room amazing Ryoma-kun?" Ayumi skipped through the door and twirled around in the center. The young man just slouched against the door frame and looked around the room, blank faced and uncaring at the least. _

"_It's empty."_

"_Of course it is, this is going to be my working studio from now on!" Ayumi strode over to Ryoma, entangling her fingers with his, she led him inside. _

"_So, what do you think?"Ayumi's eyes sparkled._

"_It's alright." Ryoma stared at the ground. _

"_And what is that supposed to mean?" Ayumi pouted and Ryoma looked up at her, and then brought his hands to the sides of her complexion, bringing himself in closer until their noses barely touched the other. _

"_It's alright, that's all." He muttered again and pushed back, the tips of his fingers slid down her rosy cheeks._

She walked forward taking in the scent of dried paint and musty dust in the air. It had a calming effect on her nerves whenever she was in this room, just like how she would have the opposite effects as she was near Ryoma-kun. The cheesy phrase, "I have butterflies in my stomach" matched the feeling well enough.

Ayumi stopped in front of a cloth covered painting; she took a hand and slowly unveiled it. The dimmed light caught the white flutter of cloth and the lines that created the picture.

"_Well, well, I didn't expect to see you so soon." She tilted her head cutely to the right side and blinked, as she took note of the male figure at the entrance of her apartment. _

"_The game was canceled today; they decided to move it to next week." He said in his blunt straightforward kind of way. A small pouty frown graced his lips. _

"_Really, that's too bad." Ayumi closed her eyes, giving him a saddened closed eyed smile. _

"…_Aren't you going to let me in?" _

"_And if I choose not to?"Ayumi gave him a deviously childish grin. _

"_Alright then, I have no problem with that."He huffed slightly and turned around to leave. A hand gripped onto the end of his shirt._

"_What?" He asked, turning his head back to look at her._

"_Where are you going?" She asked a tad bit flustered by his unexpected actions, usually he'd give her "the look" until she couldn't hold in her laughter anymore and let him inside. _

"_I'm leaving."He noted that she didn't let go of her vice grip on his shirt. _

"_So… You're not coming inside then?" She looked down, rather disappointed. _

"_I just wanted to see you," He said plainly. Ayumi looked up at Ryoma-kun with wide eyes. "I'll be going to the tennis courts for extra training practice now." Ayumi replied with a tiny "oh" of comprehension. _

_Ryoma-kun gazed down at Ayumi's face, "You have paint on your face." _

"_I do?" Ryoma nodded and motioned a hand to rub at the side of his right cheek. Ayumi mimicked the motion, rubbing her left cheek._

_Ryoma sighed," You're hopeless." His thumb stroked against the paint blotch under her eye. _

In our paintings, we express our emotions and feelings by transforming something so ordinary into a work of magnificent splendor. It takes concentration and such dedication in everything that we do, much like in everything we do.

The next day, Ayumi stared at the empty tennis courts, hands inside of her pockets and appeared to be lost in her thoughts. She used to be so intrigued by tennis; it was the first thing that connected her to Ryoma-kun. Their love of tennis but now, things had begun to change.

She heard footsteps walk over to her from behind and she turned and stared up at the person before her eyes. It had been a long while since she'd last seen him.

"I'm ready."


	3. Chapter 3

_"I'm ready."_

Those bitter scars made origin by the overpowering of an element on paper are seemingly transparent as the colors camouflage them but deep within ourselves, we know they exist, waiting to surface once more. In order to preserve the masks we use to conceal ourselves with, it is now the time to start things on a new page, a new beginning, a new light, a new mindset. A farewell to those past days we'll never see again.

And she bids him farewell, as his back turns to her for their exhibition's finale.

* * *

Suisai Enogu

A Prince of Tennis Fanfiction

Written by Kiwi of RANNOC

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is a series created by Konomi Takeshi. The story of Suisai Enogu is a fan fiction formulated by the deranged melancholy workings of RANNOC's Kiwi. OC belongs to Ayumi Nazu of RANNOC.

AN: And the curtains are about to fall, is this the end you've awaited for…?

To my friend, reviewers and readers, I graciously thank you for taking the time to read and review this little project of mine. Now, let's get things started, shall we?

Have fun reading, reviews are welcome!

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A questionable mewl erupted from the creature sitting upon the young male's lap, a brown and white furred face stared up with large blue wondering eyes. The Himalayan cat purred as its owner scratched the back of its ear, but continued to gaze up at its master's face. Karupin somehow knew that the young man wasn't feeling like himself. He seemed somewhat sadder somehow, maybe.

His eyes that were brimming with overly zealous pride were faded blank like the single coat of watercolor paint on an easel. Although Karupin could sense the warmth as he curled into his owner's lap, he couldn't reach and touch the tips of his owner's soul like he always had. The connection was bleak like the somber look on his complexion.

"It's fine." His master whispered and patted the cat on the crown of its head, exiting his bedroom and entering the bathroom of his house. The lights flickered on and the door shut closed with a click behind him.

Hands stripped off the pieces of cloth hiding the well toned limbs of the eighteen year old male, dropping off the discarded mess on the floor. Water sprayed and the young man stepped into the full bath, his long arms flexed revealing hard muscle which held into the sides of the tub. His torso half dipped into the steam, water droplets cascading down his medium bronzed bare flesh like nature's waterfall, creating a path from his chest, past his developing abs from training, leading lower still past his flat stomach. His sea green tresses curled slightly around at the nape of his slender neck, his bangs were dampened by the humidity and fell over his hazel eyes that were closed shut. His head was tilted back, connecting with the tiled wall behind him.

"_So," Ayumi tilted her head to gaze at Ryoma's beautiful eyes, "What do you think of me going into art school?" _

"_It's your choice." He threw the empty can of Ponta into the trash can after downing the remaining contents. _

So many things happened, time flew by so fast and things changed. Ryoma just didn't know if it was for the better.

"_You're hopeless." He muttered, a finger rose to rub away the blemish of paint underneath her eye. _

_She chuckled, "Sorry."_

He just didn't know, because she wouldn't tell him.

"_I'm guessing this is it then." She looked over at his side. _

_Ryoma lowered his cap, "Yeah." _

"_I'm going to enter." Ayumi smiled bitterly, but tried hard to make her smile and voice as smooth as possible. _

She didn't say anything.

_He continued to stare unblinkingly at the ground, "Sure." _

"_You're not going to say anything?" The tone of Ayumi's voice cracked slightly near the end of her sentence. He lifted his head to see tears begin to brim over her lashes. _

Should he have said something? Should he have stopped her from leaving?

"_What do you want me to say?" _

A hand brushed through his long tresses and he stared up at the ceiling. Ryoma sighed and got out of the bath, shielding his body away from the cold with a towel. He exited the washroom.

* * *

What did she want him to say? What could she have said? What was binding her and keeping her in the dark where she couldn't move? What was it? What was it?

She couldn't…

The first single coat of water paint can easily fade out. We have to try our hardest to continue on with the obstacles in front of us, whether we used the wrong tone, the wrong color, the wrong techniques. We have to continue on with it, no matter what. That was life.

"Nazu-san! It's terrible someone---"

Ayumi's eyes flashed with shock and befuddlement. She scrambled past the shorter girl and into the art room without a second thought as the red head rushed after her. A hand grabbed the handle instinctively and yanked it wide open.

She just couldn't. She couldn't protest and cry out the longing and selfishness she'd kept inside for so long.

With long strides, Ayumi stared at the picture in front of her. The beautiful watercolor painted picture she'd worked so very hard on was defaced. Dark red inked lines ran over the paper, damaging the image, permanently. Writings of discouragement and profanity screamed out at her.

She wanted so much for him to know, more than anything.

"Nazu-san, I'm so sorry about what happened to…"

She wanted to be truthful about her feelings, she wanted to come clean and admit everything.

Hands seized the paper, meeting at the top of the page with a strength of force, there was a single clear ripping sound resounding in the silence.

"Nazu-san," The red haired girl shrieked as she ran towards the brunette, " why did you?! How?"

The girl shut her mouth when she noticed tears running down round pink flushed cheeks.

Ayumi chuckled, "I did what I had to do, and that's all."

* * *

And the water and the paint run, together or apart, they meld.

The beauty of the painting completed before our eyes omits such a deep sadness that strikes our hearts with each cold stroke of a brush, shattering into pieces those past dreams we wanted to keep and treasure forever.

We can still view those simplistic dreams, although battered and broken, through the softness and the delicacy of,

Our very own watercolor painting.


	4. Chapter 4

They complimented each other, both dispersing along the bordering line of the canvas that bound the other together, kissing softly the paper; they meld together as one beautiful effect.

Not only was this an art form, nor was it a simple technique.

This was a life style. A life style outlined in dramatic designs lit aglow with delicate shades.

This was watercolor.

* * *

Suisai Enogu

Extra Chapter

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is the anime/manga series created by mangaka Konomi Takeshi.

AN: To one such person who was not yet satisfied of the final work. Credit goes to **Soraku** who helped me with the ending, you have saved my butt. This is the final verdict, the last string of words. Have fun reading, reviews are welcome.

* * *

Two days. That's what it came down to for Nazu Ayumi.

She had only entered the art competition the week before the last and the deadline was only two days away.

She had nothing, simply said, nothing to show for it. What was she going to do now? Was she even going to try? Would she run?

No, she couldn't run this time. She couldn't do it.

She had to strive on forward. No more running away. No more excuses.

Ayumi gazed at the faintest traces of her latest sketch on the easel in front of her and settled the "F" pencil on the table. The sketch was of the scenery outside the window of the art classroom, snow had begun to pile up. The tree's branches cast off darkened shadows and shapes upon the blanket of white.

"It doesn't feel right," she thought and tilted her head in different angles to stare at the sketch, "it feels so dead."

Ayumi exhaled sharply and lowered her gaze to the remains of her previous work in the trash can two feet away from where she sat.

That's right. She ripped it up at that time.

Her mind was a blur and everything around her seemed to move so quickly, passing her by. He was no exception. Like everything else, while he moved forward, she kept back and stayed, afraid and uncertain of choosing a pathway from the crossroads that determined her fate, her future.

Future, that very word scared her. Maybe it was just too much to think of so many things that had happened that it all wound up overpowering her thoughts, confusing her.

She had left the school and left that world she'd solely entered herself behind.

* * *

Ayumi was standing outside the park's tennis courts, dusted with frozen water. She wondered why she was here, if it was by instinct or an undetected urge that lead her here to this very place. Even so, she felt rather comforted because this was the place they both shared such a love for, a long time ago. Those times seemed almost too close and yet so far, her arms weren't long enough to trace back and reset the clock.

Her mind was spiraling down into a deep whirling tide of mismatched emotions, her thoughts ran around in circles giving her a headache. What should she do now?

She heard it, the resounding echoing of a tennis ball connecting with a wall in the stillness of the afternoon. Was she imagining the sound? It was so clear like the ripples created as she dipped her paintbrush into a small container, mixing it in with paint.

Ayumi shook her head, she was trying to relax out here, not bind herself to the burdening recesses of her mind. Burdens, was that what she thought of everything she loved, they were all a burden?

Was she going crazy?

Ayumi's eyes flickered to life as she noticed that she was unconsciously pursuing the sound of a tennis ball bouncing across the ground. She passed the lined path of trees and turned round a corner.

She saw him there, tennis racket in hand and a long scarf round his neck. He took short concise breaths and hit the green ball directly in the same spot, down the middle of the wall. His legs shifting side to side to catch the ball, to hit it again in repetition. His stature in perfect form as he swung his right arm, performing a simple backhand as the ball swerved to his opposite left.

It was nostalgic to see the sight before her eyes, it was like old time's sake back in they're junior years. Ayumi stood behind Ryoma and watched as he continued with his basic exercise. She breathed softly as to not disturb the peaceful aura of concentration.

The movements of his whole body were almost flowing like a brush scaling the edges of a canvas, wistfully deep strokes and flicks of the wrist creating deft dabbing across white. Ayumi just couldn't look away; she could only sigh in amazement, lost in her reminiscence.

"Are you going to stop watching and play?" His voice rang out; he didn't bother turning to question her.

Ayumi closed her eyes, "I'm…satisfied with just watching."

There was short pause before he continued with the conversation at hand, "Why?"

"Just, because." Ayumi replied in an irresolute fashion.

"Have your skills gone that Mada Mada Dane that you won't play against me?" Ryoma turned around and looked at her.

Ayumi stared back at Ryoma, "Don't be as so cocky to say that, Ryoma."

"You'll play then." Ryoma turned around while bouncing the ball underneath his racket.

"I didn't agree to anything." Ayumi muttered, "You're the one who started it."

Ryoma hit the tennis ball towards Ayumi as she caught it with her hand, "Your serve."

* * *

A ball swerved into the air and twirled magnificently through the chilly winter air. Echoing of rackets hitting the yellow ball with great precision and speed as the ball now resembled a spur of yellow travelling through either side of the court. Feet kicked up dusty white and whirling cold; wrists whipped and flicked angling the rackets in hand to meet up with the ball matching the movement of footwork.

On her side, she was gapping for breath and the familiar aching feeling of the bitter wind filled her ears. On his side, he merely glanced over at the girl on the other side, his mouth soon etched into a taunting smirk as soon their eyes met.

Doubtful thoughts that had accumulated beforehand and the sense of keeping an imperturbable state were lost on that tennis court. The fuel of adrenaline, competition and excitement came back full force. Ayumi couldn't think on that court, she was immersed, engrossed and completely absorbed, nothing made sense but it all made sense in the end anyway. Nothing mattered as so much as tennis at that moment.

Unlimited power surged through her veins and the sight of the yellow ball passing through her vision erupt a severely intense animalistic urge of onslaught as she pulled and twisted her body to hit that ball back with different styles and techniques. Tennis just wasn't a game, it was a war. A bloodless war that could have drove anyone to absolute insanity. The score was uneven as her breath after the numbers of battle that had ensued between Ayumi and Ryoma.

Out of breath, the feeling of infinite intensity that flowed through her fingertips seeped outwards and she was tired. On the other side of the court, he matched the very state that Ayumi was.

It was his serve, the final serve. It was down onto that very final serves that determined this battle between the two. The forceful passionate connection between them grew much more deeply severe in the quiet and enveloped the two in its clutching grip. Heartbeats thudded in her chest and eyes watched the ball soundlessly as it stuck a dear chord with Ryoma's racket.

Before she knew it, it was over.

He let her win.

"What are you trying to play at?!" Ayumi shouted as she charged over to the young male on the other side of the court. He was putting back his prized racket into its case and zipped it closed.

He shifted the bag carrying his racket on his shoulder, "Who said I wasn't playing at my best?" He looked at Ayumi blankly.

"Don't give me that Ryoma," Ayumi's eyes flared with the anger percolating the irises entirely, "Why did you lose on purpose?"

Ryoma stood quietly and stared at Ayumi as she continued to rant.

"I don't understand…" She grabbed the sides of her head, beginning to shake her head from side to side, "I don't understand, not you, not anyone! I don't even understand myself anymore!"

"Everyone winds up making decisions for me and making me walk down a path that wasn't mine from the beginning! They all do strange things that I can't comprehend! You were so close to me, you've always been by my side! But now, everything's changed!" Tear stricken eyes pierced through the final barrier blocking Ayumi from Ryoma, "Everyone is going away. You're going far, far away to a point where I can't even reach you! And I can't… I can't go on without you. I don't know what to do anymore! Tell me what to do Ryoma! I just don't want to be apart from you, I don't want all of this to be just a broken memory of us…"

Her words were caught inside of her throat as Ayumi's lips were caught by delicate warmth melting the cold grip across her soul. Her heart beat fast about to burst out from her chest that it hurt so much, it was unbearable.

It was the slowest of seconds when he removed his bruised lips and he drew her in a hug. The silence was enough for the both of them as snow fell from the sky.

_I__diot, you should have said so before. _

_I love you._

Watercolor and Tennis are battles of passion that collide, of wars within the world, and within itself. But these battles are won, when water and paint flow as one to create a beautiful painting.


End file.
